Once More With Feeling
by flowerpicture
Summary: Stendan one-shot. Flirting & fluff, basically.


**AN: Set in an unknown time where Stendan aren't together but are on really good terms. It's up to you if it's set in the future or sometime in the past. I just really wanted to write not-yet-a-couple Stendan flirting… So that would make this an AU I guess. One-shot.**

::: ::: :::

"Hiya," Steven says, in that free, casual way of his. He's elbow-deep in soapy water, busy washing the outside windows of the deli. Brendan hadn't planned on stopping, mind focused on work, but Steven's caught his attention now so he stops and smiles, slips his hands into his pockets.

"All right?"

"Yeah, listen." Steven drops the sponge in the bucket and straightens, dries his hands on the front of his apron. "Glad I've caught you actually. I'm having this party on Friday."

Brendan raises an eyebrow but then he realises—Steven's birthday. Suppose he'll have to get a card or something now.

"It's at my place. Just small, mind. A few people. D'ya wanna come? Bring Cheryl too."

"Hmm," Brendan says, and pretends to think about it, turning his gaze skyward. "I'll see what I'm doing." He already knows he's going, even if he hates house parties with a passion. "But I'll let Cheryl know."

"Great, thanks."

Brendan gives a nod and turns to leave, heads across the street to the club.

"I get first dance!" Steven calls after him, and Brendan smiles.

::: ::: :::

"You made it!" Steven already looks a little worse for wear—eyes shining, cheeks flushed. He pulls the door wide to allow Brendan and Cheryl entry, accepting Cheryl's hug and kiss on the cheek. Brendan offers him a clap on the shoulder which Steven turns into a one-armed hug, and Brendan allows himself a moment to breathe in his scent.

It's not that he's been pining after him or anything. He accepted a while ago that he and Steven had missed their boat—that any chance of getting back together had passed them by, and they'd eased into this comfortable semi-friendship. But Steven is still _Steven_—still hot as fuck, sexy as hell, and Brendan is only human. Even now he finds it impossible to look at Steven—especially when he's like this, all uninhibited and carefree—without feeling his libido perk up.

He still fancies the bones of him.

If there's another part of him that knocks the breath out of his lungs when he gets near Steven, a part that has nothing to do with sexual attraction, then he's quite capable of quashing it.

Steven leads them into the kitchen as if neither he nor Cheryl know the way, and after giving Cheryl a glass of wine and sending her into the throng of people to mingle, he rounds on Brendan. "What can I get ya?"

"Just a beer. I'm only having one tonight—got an early start tomorrow."

Steven turns. "Aw, you're no fun."

"I don't need alcohol to have a good time, Steven," Brendan says, and then he adds, because what the hell: "You know that."

Steven grins, eyes glittering with memory. He pitches into Brendan's space for a moment, dips his voice low. "Yeah, I remember."

Brendan smirks and gets a hand on Steven's waist to push him upright again. "Beer," he repeats, and skates his thumb over Steven's hipbone where his sinfully small T-shirt has ridden up beneath his hand. "Please."

"Yeah." Steven drags his teeth over his bottom lip, stares at Brendan's mouth. Then he shakes his head, gets rid of the thought he's having, a thought Brendan doesn't mind him having at all. "Yeah, okay. Here."

"Thanks," Brendan says, takes the cool bottle, lets their fingers brush together.

He should feel guilty, with Steven already a little drunk. But he doesn't.

Harmless fun, that's all.

Steven pushes him away after that, tells him to go talk to people. Brendan gives it a good try. Spends five minutes chatting with Tony about his new business venture; gets collared by Mitzeee and receives a stern telling-off about sacking that useless barman she hired the previous week; accidentally merges with a swarm of McQueens for ten terrifying minutes; pretends to listen to the painfully boring topic of upcoming coursework from some of those student kids Douglas used to knock about with.

He's just in the process of hunting down his sister, because at least they can stand together without having to talk, when Steven taps him on the shoulder.

He's holding a tray of food. "Nibble?" he says, one eyebrow quirked. Cheeky fucker.

"I'd love a nibble," he responds, voice low and suggestive, and takes a sausage roll from the tray. He stuffs the entire thing in his mouth and swallows after a brief chew.

Steven wrinkles his nose. "Still an animal."

"Still staring at my mouth," Brendan points out.

Steven's eyes flick up to meet his, but he doesn't look guilty. Just wicked. Then the fucker winks, cocky as hell. "You like the attention."

"I love the attention," Brendan agrees. He makes a sweeping gesture down himself, indicating his whole body. "Drink your fill."

Steven gives him a smile full of filth. "Oh I have been." He reaches out with his spare hand and tugs on Brendan's collar, makes a show of straightening it. "You're looking good."

"I've always looked good." Brendan doesn't even consider stopping the contact.

"Yeah." Steven releases his collar and drags his hand down Brendan's chest, swipes a thumb over his nipple through the shirt. The touch shoots straight to Brendan's dick. "You have." Then with a smirk, he turns and walks away.

Jesus Christ.

::: ::: :::

Leave it to Brendan Brady to be the only person at a party standing by the kettle, waiting for it to boil so he can make a cup of coffee.

"Are you serious right now?" says an all-too-familiar voice, and a moment later Steven slides in beside him and leans back against the counter.

"Told you I was only having one beer."

"But a coffee, Brendan, seriously."

"Leave me alone with my choices," Brendan says, pouring water into the cup.

"I would leave you alone," Steven says slowly, suggestively. "But I don't think you want me to." When Brendan looks up at him, he adds, teasingly, "Am I wrong?"

Brendan considers a million answers and discards them all. Eventually he says, "You're drunk, is what you are."

"Nah," Steven says, rolling his shoulders. "I'm just…loose."

"Hmm," Brendan says noncommittally, ignoring the way his cock twitches in his boxers at hearing those words and the silky way they were spoken. He stirs his coffee and drops the spoon into the sink, lifts the cup and takes a sip. It goes down like sandpaper. "Jesus, this is the worst coffee in the world."

"The name's Ste," says Steven, "not Jesus."

The cocky, sultry way he says it makes Brendan snap, just a little. If Steven wants to play this game… He turns to him, crowds into his space, lowers his head until he can speak directly into his ear. "The name's _Steven_." He pauses, watches the way Steven's lips part slightly. "Don't you ever forget that."

Normally this might be where he'd swipe his tongue over Steven's earlobe, maybe press his teeth to the flesh of his neck…but Steven's drunk, and he can't forget that. This might be a bit of uninhibited fun now, but the morning brings with it harsh reality, and Brendan's not putting Steven in that position.

He backs away, returning Steven's wink from earlier, and takes his coffee into the crowd in the sitting room.

He ignores the way Steven's eyes are glazed over, the way his cheeks flush through with heat.

::: ::: :::

"Going for a piss," Brendan says to Cheryl some half an hour later, glancing at his watch. Time to head out soon.

She frowns at him. "Nice, thanks."

He locks the door firmly once he makes it into the bathroom and revels in the quiet for a moment, leaning back against the door.

The bathroom looks exactly the same as it always has, not a thing out of place. He spends a minute poking through the cabinet, smelling some of Steven's aftershaves and pretending he's not a pathetic teenage girl. Then he uses the toilet and washes his hands, and it's as he's drying off that his phone beeps with a text message.

_From: Steven_

_Quit hiding. It's time for my dance x_

Brendan smiles and pockets his phone, leaves the bathroom and heads for the living room. He finds Steven talking to Theresa and he approaches him from behind, lets his chest press against Steven's back. Steven startles a little, and Brendan takes the opportunity to murmur into his ear: "I wasn't hiding."

Theresa gives him a knowing glance and ambles off, leaving Steven to turn and look up at him. He looks more sober now, somehow. Maybe he's had a coffee of his own.

"But I'm not dancing either," he adds, before there's any confusion.

"Oh come on," Steven says, a touch of whine in his voice—sounding so much like the old days that Brendan's lost for a moment. "It's a slowie, listen. All you have to do is sway on the spot!"

"I don't dance."

"I've seen you dance."

"That was different."

"Why?"

"Because…"

Steven raises an eyebrow. "Because you were trying to make me jealous?"

Brendan can be an adult about this. "Yeah," he says, word sounding like it was punched out. He raises an eyebrow of his own. "Did it work?"

"Of course it bloody worked," Steven says, looking as if he's trying desperately to conceal a smile. "You know it did. That whole night made me crazy."

"Seeing you with that idiot made me crazy," Brendan says, and somehow they're close enough for Brendan to see Steven's pupils dilate. "He was a terrible choice."

"Was he now?" Steven licks his bottom lip. "And who was my best choice?"

"You don't need me to answer that, Steven." He brushes non-existent hair behind Steven's ear—a habit of old. Steven leans into it, just a little. "But that's all in the past now."

Steven doesn't answer. Instead he places both hands on Brendan's chest and sweeps them up slowly until he links them behind Brendan's neck. "You're dancing with me," he says, voice quiet, and then he starts swaying gently.

Brendan has no choice but to comply. He places his hands on Steven's waist, a loose hold, and moves with him. The whole room's probably watching them but he couldn't care less. He's having this, if only for a moment.

Steven shuffles in closer, props his chin on Brendan's shoulder, and Brendan rests his cheek against Steven's temple. It's the most contact they've had for months and Brendan concentrates really hard on not letting anything inappropriate occur.

"How're you doing these days?" Steven asks quietly, breath ghosting over Brendan's ear.

"Same old."

There's a pause, and then: "Seeing anyone?"

"Steven…"

"It's just a question, Brendan, don't read owt into it."

Brendan sighs. "No. I've never been seeing anyone in my whole life, except for my wife." After a moment, he adds, "And you."

"Did you really consider us seeing each other? A relationship?"

He doesn't know what to say to that. He supposes, no, it was never a true relationship, but it meant more to him that Steven will probably ever know. "Can we not talk about this?"

"'Kay…" Steven says softly, and pulls him closer. They're touching now from groin to shoulder, pressed tight together, and it should be awkward and uncomfortable but it's not.

Brendan can't help but ask: "What about you?"

"What?"

"Seeing anyone."

"You know I'm not."

"How would I know?"

Steven sighs against his ear, calm and content. "I know you're still keeping tabs on me," he says lazily.

Brendan can't really argue that, and they say nothing else for the rest of the song.

His phone vibrates in his pocket as the song's coming to an end, and Steven jerks his hips away and laughs. "I felt that," he says, which, if anything, only goes to show they were pressed entirely too close together.

Brendan breaks their hold and digs out his phone. "Sorry," he says, and looks at the screen. _Chez_. He frowns and answers it, scanning the crowd for her.

"What d'you think you're doing?" she hisses into his ear, and he spots her in the kitchen, glaring daggers at him.

He bites his lip. "Leave it, sis," he says and hangs up. He turns back to Steven to find him gazing at him with something open and terrifying in his eyes. Suddenly Brendan aches. He's not this much of a masochist. "I need to get going."

Steven's expression morphs into a frown. "But it's still early."

"I know, but I've got that early start…"

"Right." Steven nods. "Right, yeah. Well thanks for coming." He's not even bothering trying to hide his disappointment.

Brendan attempts a smile. "No bother." As Steven turns to leave, eyes downcast, something within Brendan compels him to say, "Wait," and grab Steven's arm.

Steven stops and turns back, looking at him with shining eyes. Brendan cups Steven's face in his hand and leans in, refuses to think about the potential danger here as he presses a long, lingering kiss to Steven's cheek, millimetres from the corner of Steven's mouth. Steven sucks in a breath, holds it.

"Happy birthday," he murmurs as he pulls back, brushing his thumb over Steven's cheek. Steven doesn't look as if he knows how to respond.

It's not the easiest thing in the world, walking away in that moment, but he manages it. Finds Cheryl and wrangles her out the door before he can change his mind and go back. She bitches at him the whole way home, telling him it's dangerous ground and _you can't put that boy through it again_. He takes everything she says on board, but he still leaves her at the door to their flat and backs away, heading back down the stairs.

He knows what he's doing.

Jesus, he hopes he knows what he's doing.

"Where are you going?" she demands after him, voice shrill.

"Something I need to do, sis, I'll be back later."

He ignores her shrieking and heads straight back to Steven's, making a point to not overthink anything, to go on instinct and what feels _right_.

The party's still in full swing, not quite eleven o'clock, and someone he doesn't know but vaguely recognises opens the door for him and lets him in. He makes a beeline for the living room, sure he'll find Steven dancing the night away. Instead he finds him in the corner, talking quietly to Tony.

"Can I borrow him for a minute?" he says, coming to a stop beside them and taking Steven's wrist in his hand.

Steven startles and looks up at him, eyes wide. "You're back."

"Yeah." Brendan shuffles his feet, feeling suddenly awkward. He hopes he's not about to make a complete tit of himself. "I need to talk to you."

"Okay." Steven looks like he's not quite sure if this is real life, but he offers an apologetic smile to Tony and follows Brendan outside into the cold. They stop by the window of the kitchen, the silhouettes of the people moving around inside casting shadows across the ground between them.

"Look—" Brendan tries, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

"Just kiss me," Steven says, bold as anything. The streetlight is washing out his features, but he's still the most beautiful thing Brendan's ever seen.

Brendan laughs, gently and unconfident. "Thing is, Steven—"

"If you say I'm drunk again…" Steven interrupts, a warning in his tone.

"You are, though. And things will look different in the morning."

"Then why d'you come back?" Steven challenges. "If that's what you think, why're you here?"

Brendan shrugs. "To be honest with you, Steven, I don't know."

Steven takes a step forward. "I wanted you this morning when I was sober," he says, shocking Brendan into complete stillness. "I wanted you yesterday. I'll want you tomorrow and I _know_ you want me now."

What is he supposed to say to that? He stares at Steven, at the fire in his eyes, thinks about everything he wants and everything he's lost and how he needs the courage now, just once; Steven needs him to have the courage. "I don't just want you now," he says softly. "This isn't—this isn't just about tonight for me. And if you're not—"

"I am," Steven says quickly, and this time they take the step together, meet in the middle. "I am." He lifts his hands to Brendan's chest and Brendan pulls him in, wraps him up tight in his arms and silently pledges never to let go again. "Just kiss me," Steven whispers.

And Brendan does, every day for the rest of his life.


End file.
